


Saving a Damsel

by HelpingHanikan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Eggsy Unwin is a Little Shit, Implied Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, M/M, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, Reader Insert, Torture, description of torture, eggsy unwin - Freeform, harry hart - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelpingHanikan/pseuds/HelpingHanikan
Summary: You and your cousin agent from across the pond were on the same mission with separate targets. Yours was successful, unfortunately Galahad's...





	Saving a Damsel

 “Taxi’ll be right outside waiting for you.” Merlin’s voice played in your left ear as sweet nothing was whispered in your right by pink painted lips. Only moments ago this woman, this Patricia, was sitting alone with her book and her drink. Now your arm was about her and she was saying things that’d make a corner girl blink at.

             It was only a few days ago that you found out the Kingsman agency existed. Only three of the agents had survived the massive purge; with one still under recovery for explosion related injuries (not that that stopped him from working on the mic), and a third who was “chasing butterflies”. This left one, Galahad (A.K.A Eggys Unwin) to prove the agents across the pond were better than just a bunch of pretty people. The first impression was good, you had watched the feed and saw them fight against Poppy and her men in Poppy land. You had also seen them go against the former agent Whiskey. His death was such a blow to the agency, in both man power and moral. So few Statesmen believed that Whiskey could have been a traitor, there were whispers of the Kingsmen being at fault. The glasses footage had to be released to stop the rumors, not that anyone cared after Ginger Ale took over the mantle and the celebratory drinking began.

             You and Galahad were sent on different missions with the same goal. Champagne wanted everything that ever had anything to do with Poppy off the face of the earth. Destruction of Poppy Land, deleting her files, recipes for the blue rash destroyed and all copies tracked down. This included former employees, they were to either be captured and interrogated or eliminated. Two of those former employees were in this hotel; an older woman who had helped Poppy get the resources needed and a younger woman who had acted as a driver to several distributors.

            The two targets were both staying in the same hotel for separate flights the next morning. You and Galahad took separate cars, arriving a half an hour between each other. Both of you hung out in the hotel bar for a little over an hour before the older woman came down first. Galahad whispering “I got this one,” and approaching her after the drink arrived.

            A few minutes later the younger girl had came down. A few years your junior, mousey looking with glasses and a book to match. A cute little white girl was less likely to be searched or stopped for drugs than any of Poppy’s other employees. She sat with her legs curled up reading, a glass of white wine on the edge with her fingers lightly wrapped around the stem.

            You approach with a curiosity about her book. She looks confused at first, then excitably went on about it. It was one of her favorites, she had re-read it a million times. Happily scooting forward in her chair while going on about the perfect symbolism the author had managed to do, how the characters were so well rounded and their journey spoke to any kind of reader. Every time she flipped through the pages to show you something you’d inch a little closer, eventually you sat on the edge of the chair, hand on her knee. Face inches from her peach smelling hair.

            Eventually you left her side, both of your glasses in hand, going to the bar to refill. Galahad’s target seemed to enjoy younger men, as she had him with the small of his back against the bar. Supposedly one area the Kingsmen were superior was in the art of seduction. Although you would argue any statement that said the Kingsmen were in anyway superior to your Statesmen you had to admit, Galahad had a few tricks.

            Around the same time that your refilled drinks were placed before you Galahad was pulled away by his target. Heading towards the back doors instead of the front were an undercover taxi would be waiting for the targets to be deposited. His target was blissfully unaware that she was signing her death certificate by taking him into privacy. A small part of you was hoping yours wouldn’t be nearly as desperate.

            And she wasn’t. Coming up to your side with a passage from her book she presses into your space. This leads to your arm going about her to bring you together. She reads over the passage, you lean closer, feigning hard of hearing so she’s forced to whisper it in your ear.

            The progression from reading the passage to using her own words took about five minutes. When her tongue touches your ear that’s the sign.

            “You should see the view from my office.” You suggest tilting her chin with your knuckles. “You can see all the stars from there. Hell, almost as bright as the ones in your eyes.”

            She bites her bottom lip and nods once. Your hand taking hers, leaving a bundle of cash on the bar. Enough for the drinks and a generous tip. Your arm stays around her hip while walking through the hotel; in this kind of hotel it wasn’t odd to see couples meet in the bar and venture from there to either the elevators or out into the street. If police were to ask it was unlikely anyone would remember you, not in very much detail at least.

            “Wave out your arm and they’ll pull up for ya.” Merlin says over the late-night noises of the city.

            Your arm waves out and, like magic, a yellow cab pulls up on the street. Galahad had commented that the black taxis in England were much nicer than the yellow cabs. Your target didn’t seem to mind it, though. Ducking into the back seat as you held the door open.

            “You’ll have to sit this interrogation out, Absinthe. Galahad needs help.” You close the door after your target. Hearing the doors lock and the tires squeal as the taxi punches it down the street.

            Ideally you would have crawled into the cab after her. From there you would produce a gun and the driver would punch it through traffic. Cops would be informed that your cab wasn’t to be pulled over. And for up to half an hour you would be reaching ninety miles an hour through the city while you interrogated the target in the backseat. Without you it would be up to the driver to take both parts. Driving crazy while asking spit fire questions; the drive would only last fifteen minutes instead of a half-an hour. Long enough to terrify her so she’s more pliant when dropped off for the real interrogation.

            “What’s going on, Chief?” You ask Merlin, taking a seat and pulling out your phone to pretend to be busy.

            Your spectacles change to Galahad’s view point. He’s inside a car that likely cost more than a first year at college. He’s in the center back seat, staring straight ahead where two men are sitting in the front. One is facing forward, focusing on traffic, the other has turned in his seat. Just watching.

            _“-Stupid, stupid.”_ The female voice, his target, was cooing. _“There must not be many of you if you get sent out. How many are left? Two? Soon to be less, I suppose. Should have sent the other one.”_

He looks down, the dainty old woman’s hand rests on the inside of his thigh, her dark purple nails dig into the fabric. On the other side he’s next to a jean cladded leg, most likely a male’s. The purpled-nailed hand is gone, an off-camera _flick_ , and it returns with a pen knife that slides along the seams of his pants.

            _“How many are left, Baby-boy? How many?”_ The target asks.

            _“I don’t-I don’t know. I just wanted a shag.”_ If Galahad ever wanted to quit the spy game he’d make one hell of an actor. He sounded legitimately scared, even a quiver could be heard in his voice.

            There’s a flash of metal and Galahad lets out a small grunt and heavy breathes. He looks down and there, the purple nails are gripping the pen knife, driven deep into the thick of his thigh. The blade was still slightly visible so it must’ve been stopped by the bone. He reaches his hand out to grab the blade, which he would then stab towards the target. He’s stopped by a gun pressed into his calf and the trigger pulled. Skin and blood and skin spreads over the back seat. His screams seeming to be louder than the gunshot could ever be.

            “Where am I going?” You ask standing from the chair.

            “To the parking garage next door. Valet’s waiting with a treat for you.” Merlin says and you take extra quick strides.

            The teenager in the red vest stands awkwardly at his podium. He squints as you approach and then runs inside. Returning a moment later walking a motorcycle he was overwhelmed to be holding.

            You recognized the modified Suzuki as one of the Statesmen’s vehicles. Nicknamed “Red bullet”, she was altered to not only have all sort of goodies but also pointed in vary shades of red and black. You had seen her in the garage a few times, snuggled next to other bikes made for stealth and subtlety, but not red bullet. She was a predator, a lion, made for the chase. Everything about her was made to get your blood pumping, to get you excited. She was the vehicle equivalent of your dream partner gently touching the pulse point of your throat, and leaning in closer.

            “Oh, nice.” You whisper slapping the teenager the first three bills you found in your pockets (a nice fifty and two twenties). Gripping each handle and whirring your red beauty to life. “Very, very nice.”

            “Helmet, young lady.” Merlin says.

            “Fucking grandpa.” Your spectacles are removed and the black helmet is replaced.

            The road is lit up before you. A path mapped out in green neon with the outline of anything and everything solid made in white lines. The teenager takes steps backward to make way for your path. Red bullet vibrating the inside of your thighs and sending you forward through the street.

            Merlin brings the feed from Galahad’s glasses into the corner of your screen. With Red Bullet more or less auto moving through the streets you looked to the continuous feed of Galahad in the corner of your helmet.

            He’s pulled back and turned so he’s facing his target. Her hands are on either side of his face, holding it up so the camera was looking right into her eyes. She leans forward and says _“I don’t think you’re that dumb. Someone’s there, someone is in there.”_ She makes eye contact with the glasses and then leans into his ear. _“If I don’t know who they are, they’re just gonna have to watch.”_

“How far am I, Chief?” Your body presses against Bullet’s. Holding her tight in a curve around the ongoing traffic.

            Thank god for the inbuilt helmet guide. Reading ahead of the path, knowing where you can fit and where the wrong turn could end your mission real fast. A few times the path altered rapidly when a pedestrian would walk out or a car got in the way. A little swivel and you continued on your path.

            “They’re twenty kilometers ahead.” Says Merlin.

            “How longs a…. Sir, I’m American.” You’re nearing the end of the city limits. Sky scrapers are slowly getting smaller. Changing from businesses to apartments and into houses.

            You could practically hear the eye roll. “It’s twelve miles. Might wanna hurry it up.”

            And faster you went. Had you not been on a rescue mission you would have enjoyed the wind sending your jacket flapping in the wind like a cape. Lights from windows and lamps were stars on earth. Dim and distant but you couldn’t touch them, only reach out and pretend they were there.

            The city limits pass by and you’re officially into the housing district. This dwindles your suspect vehicles down until your green trail takes you right to the tail lights of the black SUV. You were still too far away to do anything useful, instead focusing on the voices and the feed in the corner of your view. His feed is still staring forward at the target, her eyes are downwards at his chest. Head tilted slightly as she moved something off view. Every few seconds the feed would shake as Galahad struggled against the man holding him.

            _“I don’t…don’t…stop, stop!”_ Somewhere deep in America Merlin is watching the entire thing. Next to him stands the third Kingsman, his jaw setting and eyes unmoving from the screen. So much attention was focused on the feed if anyone had touched him, or got too close, they’d likely receive a broken nose.

            You weren’t sure where they were going. Probably just driving around or looking for a nice quiet place to bid bye-bye to Galahad. The thought appearing in your mind was enough for bullet to lurch your guts deeper into your body. Whirring around the van you keep your face forward. To the driver and whoever was in the front seat you were just someone enjoying the dark night, speed and distinct lack of cops. If you turned your head and made eye contact there was a good chance the driver would see you as more than a joy rider.

            Bullet takes you several feet ahead of the van. Moving into their lane and pressing down on the second button next to the right handle bar.

            “Everything is easier with lube,” the new Ginger Ale (a younger guy from the Midwest) had joked while setting up the new gadgets to all Statesmen vehicles. The idea of tar or lube or anything slippery being dispensed from the vehicles was almost always off the table. Either a type couldn’t be found that wouldn’t affect the environment or a kind can’t be made that would be absorbed into the ground and not traced back to the Statesmen. It was only recently that a type was developed that could actually be used. It unfortunately came with the side effect of lube jokes, several of which you were guilty of making.

            Breaking back wheels screamed as the front began to slide. In your re-view mirror the van was turning almost completely. The back wheels catching into the liquid, driver panicking in his turning of the wheel.

            Galahad’s feed became incredibly shaky. His target fell backwards. A distinct _clunk_ heard above the cursing driver and rocking engine. Galahad’s hands reached backward to the man holding him. Due to the angle of the glasses you couldn’t see what he was exactly doing. Based on the screams he was likely jabbing his thumbs into the eyes of his captor.

            The van goes off the road and into a nearby yard. Bullet whirs around and into the yard. Rounding until you’re facing the front of the van. Side arms out before the kick-stand was down. Four rounds are shot into the windshield; one for each head and chest of the two in the front seat.

            “Galahad?” You call, bringing your leg over bullet to stand on your own.

            The door behind the passenger side opens and the target falls out. She scrambles to slam the door; her shawl gone and hair wild. Slamming the door closed just as _thunk-thunk-thunking_ sounds from the other side of the car. Spider-web cracks form quickly on the window, distracting you for a moment as the target throws her heels to make it through the wet grass.

            Your dominate arm levels it’s gun to her head. She sees you long enough for her eyes to widen. The left exploding backwards with the entry of a high-speed bullet through the socket and out the back. The gore splatters outward and coats the ground. A small squish coming when the target’s body lands in her own brain. Another shot hits between her breasts. Your boots step into the soft stomach as you continue.

            This was a policy with taking out big targets via guns. With the Statesmen lifesaving (or life giving) tech it was only a matter of time before someone on the other side got ahold of it. A head shot could be cured, a chest shot cure had yet to be invented. Even if it did, within your life time, a shot to the head and chest? That would take longer still.

            “Galahad? You alive?” You ask walking around the car.

            His glasses feed stares up at the car ceiling. Distantly you hear your own walking over his labored breathing. The door opens and out falls the body of the man who was restraining Galahad. You half expected Galahad to follow but there was nothing.

            “Police are coming your way.” Merlin warns.

            The neighbors were likely aware of the large van and motorcycle that tore through their yard. If it wasn’t for the gun fire someone would have exited from the house to yell at you for the damages. Statesmen would get you out of jail but then too many questions would be asked. Overall avoiding arrest was the best option; Champagne has been known to lets his people spend a night in a cell for wasting resources.

            “Galahad, buddy, if you’re alive sound off.” You say approaching the car.

            There’s a loud groan.

            “Awesome,” You find him lying on his back. Shirt ripped open and a long cut going from nipple to nipple, creating a curtain of blood down his chest. “Ah, shit. Never mind.”

            He must have used his last ounce of strength to kill the man holding him. There’s only groans and mild eyes opening as they try and focus on you above him. He’s muttering but it’s garbled, mostly calling for the expected names “mum” and “Harry” (Although he pronounces it like ‘Arry”).

            He’s heavy, that’s for sure. Sliding your arms under his and slowly walking backwards. His legs are fifty shades of fucked up. Letting out a small cry when his feet hit the ground, the impact shaking through his legs.

            “Could you try to be gentle?” Merlin asks.

            “Just get a medic ready.”

            Galahad was all muscle and bone. You manage to lift him in a fireman carry. Walking the few steps to bullet and sitting him up, facing you, on the red metal. The lights were starting to blare behind you as bullet comes alive.

            It was a fifteen-minute ride to the airport where you were to return to base. Blood from his face and chest smearing your white shirt and dirtying your jacket. There he was lifted from your bike and stabilized on the jet ride back. The jet in question wasn’t prepared for a medical emergency of this level. The jet was separated with a white sheet, you had to sit and fall asleep as shadows stripped and treated your cousin agent.

            By the time you awoke you had landed back in Kentucky. You must have completely been out of it as all the medical supplies, and Galahad, were gone. Whiskey was the one who had woke you up.

            “She gave us everything,” Whiskey explained as you walked into the building. “We have more names to track down, so you’ll be getting more work, but overall it was a success.”

            “Be bigger success if I had grabbed the other one.” You mutter to yourself.

            “Based on Galahad’s appearance I doubt she’d have survived the interrogation.” Whiskey gestures for the elevator. Hitting for the lower levels. “Do you want to see him? I don’t know if he’ll be awake or not but…”

            “Let me get him some flowers or something first.”

            You had picked up a bear from the little gift shop the brewery tourist get to visit. It was your typical teddy bear. A little toy whiskey bottle sewn to its paw, the cheeks dyed a lighter pink and wore a tiny shirt reading _Statesman_ across the chest.

            “They were all out of suited bears with little umbrellas,” You would say when he would undoubtable give you a look about it.

            It seems no one was injured in the two days you were gone. The medical ward was empty save for one room in which it’s door was shut. Agent Raki sat behind his desk that over looked all the rooms. His feet up and magazine open. Even though he was the registered doctor (there were three others, you just hadn’t met them yet) and wore the blue scrubs with white lab coat, Raki still rocked the leather cowboy boots.

            “Is the cutie with the tie in?” You ask standing before his desk.

            “Ha, which one you lookin’ for?” Raki asks

            “How’s Galahad doing?”

            “I gotta tell ya, Dear. He was pretty fucked up. Stitches across the chest, bullet wounds in his calves. Bruises and a black eye, few other boo-boos that didn’t take long to fix. He was loopy as hell when the other came in. Closed the door after me, might wanna give them a few minutes before going in there.” Rika points to the closed door with his magazine. Sliding deeper into his chair and hitching the reading material up.

            After twenty minutes no noise come from the room. This meant either they were free to talk or they were the quietest couple in the world. If it were the former then there was nothing wrong with knocking, if it were the latter then maybe you can convince them to replace your current neighbors.

            The three knocks you give are gentle but loud. “Come in,” voiced one of the males.

            Harry Hart look more casual then most have ever seen him. Wearing a suit with the jacket removed (folded and placed formerly on the corner chair), tie loosened and spectacles removed to the bedside table turned down. He’s leaning over the bed, one hand thumbing over the pulse point on Galahad’s wrist. The other is reached out to Galahad’s face, moving his messed hair to keep from obstructing the view of his bruised face.

            Galahad looked brutal; the eye Harry was gently touching a nasty purple. He’s shirtless to show the long lines of stitches across his chest. Even with the injuries he still tilts his head into the gentle caress.

            “The second time I saw Eggsy he was about to be throttled by a gang. I took them all on, not one touched him. That savior had to be repaid, I suppose.” He says not looking away from Galahad.

            _The fuck kinda name is Eggsy?_

“I’m sorry. I… could have been faster.” You stand awkwardly before the door. The truth was you couldn’t have been faster. Your target would have been freed and there’s no telling when your next chance would be.

            “The mission must always come first,” Harry says standing from his spot. “Better for a gentleman to protect his entire family then just the member by their side.”

            This reminds you of what Champagne would say when one agent would start a relationship with another. “Don’t abandon the herd because one heifer got lost.” You quote.

            Harry nods and takes the bear from your hands. “Little too America but yes, essentially.” The bear is placed on the nightstand next to Galahad. “He’ll love seeing this when he wakes.”

            There are a few minutes of silence between the three of you. Awkward situation like this were honestly the worst. Should you wait for him to say something? Should you say something? Comment on the drapes or ask about how he’s liking America so far? Just straight leave with an Irish goodbye? The bright side would be that the silence is gone, while the dark side could be the silence grows along with a look from Harry.

            “The Kingsmen owe you more now than before, I owe you more than before.” Harry graciously says.

            “At this rate ya’ll are gonna be doing my paperwork until retirement.”

           


End file.
